


Measure Every Grief

by ShadowyTwilight



Series: Measure Every Grief [1]
Category: Mercy Thompson Series - Patricia Briggs
Genre: Amnesia, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fugitives, Slow Burn, Werewolf, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:48:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27219664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowyTwilight/pseuds/ShadowyTwilight
Summary: Sara Williams is on the run and needs help, but everyone seems to be a villain. Her past is just as murky as her future, but all she knows is witches are bad, and someone out there knows who she is. She just doesn't know who that is.
Relationships: Asil Moreno/Original Character(s), Sherwood Post/Original Character(s)
Series: Measure Every Grief [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1987234
Kudos: 22





	1. Motels at Midnight

_ “I measure every Grief I meet _

_ With narrow, probing, eyes - _

_ I wonder if It weighs like Mine - _

_ Or has an Easier size.”-Emily Dickinson _

  
  


Tasteless decorations, sagging mattresses, and tired wallpaper...every motel blurs together after a while. Each complete with a dead eyed receptionist who would check Sara Williams in at midnight without batting an eye. She really didn’t ask for much. All she and the monster really needed was an unlit parking lot, cheap nightly rate, and outside exits...The Budget Inn Motel ticked every box. Indiscriminate jeans and unbranded sweatshirt paired with her hair tucked neatly under a hat, Sara even took extra steps not to stand out on any CCTV footage. 

Backing into the shadowed corner of the parking lot was second nature by now, just like walking past her door twice before actually unlocking it and going inside. With the snick of a lock and the click of the lights, Sara tossed her hat on the bed with a sigh. Chucking the backpack next to it, she pulled the shades closed completely and wedged a chair under the door knob. With the niceties out of the way, she finally looked at her room. Cinderblock walls and the color TV advertised had set expectations pretty low, but she couldn’t argue with the price and she was desperate for a shower. 

Inhaling deeply through her nose, she sneezed once. The combination of cleaning lady and pinesol made her nose run, “At least it looks clean and smells...decent.” 

Her voice felt loud in the silent motel. Based on the cars parked outside, there were maybe four other people here tonight including staff. The building had a hollow feeling that was unsettling to her wolf, and she could feel the silent predator start pacing. Emptying her bag onto the bed, Sara took a rough inventory. She was down to one clean set of underwear. With a grumble she peeled off her sweatshirt and jeans. The holstered gun from the small of her back went beside the small mountain of dirty clothes. “And that means laundry day is tomorrow...shit.” 

Armed with relatively clean sweatpants and soap, the gun also travelled with Sara into the bathroom. In the back of her mind she could hear someone lecturing her, someone with a baseball cap that looked a lot like hers. The risk of ruining the firearm in the humidity was slim, but it was better to be prepared than sorry. 

The spitting water was scorching, and Sara had finally started to feel the long day of travel start to melt away. But like all good things, it eventually had to end. Standing in the warm, damp bathroom after her shower, she combed dark curly hair with pruny fingers. Two haphazard swipes on the mirror revealed pale green eyes with dark circles underneath. Sara bared her teeth at her reflection. She looked sick in the fluorescent lighting, the effect only made worse by the black lowlights in her eyes and the way her sweatpants hung from her thin frame. Wolves weren’t supposed to look this fragile. 

She turned to leave and something scraped on the carpet.

The handle twisted.

Her demon snarled.

Six rounds went through the bathroom door before Sara realized she had even moved. Ears ringing, she pushed the door slowly, one eye on the outside exit to her right. It thudded softly against the gasping man on the floor. Red rage made it hard to think as her wolf surged for control. The thick scent of black witch and blood made her gag as she shoved her wolf back. She edged around the spreading pool as the man gurgled weakly; even shooting blind she had tagged him at least four times in the chest. 

“You can’t save us here. He’s dead!”

A wordless roar brought her to her knees. Sara held on by the barest threads, a migraine hovering at the edges like a promise. 

“You have to stand down. You can’t protect us here. Please!” It was like shouting into a hurricane, every word from her lips dropping into nothing. Time disconnected. Until the wail of sirens turned both sets of ears turned towards the door.

They were heading this way. 

Just like that, Sara was in control.

Standing shakily, she shoved her feet in shoes and threw as much as she could back into her backpack. Hat on, bag over one shoulder, she took a moment to pick up the shell casings before casually locking the door behind her. Nonchalance was an art form. 

Easing back onto the road, she just missed the police pulling into the parking lot. Taking an immediate first right, she detoured through a residential area. Eyes flicking everywhere for any sign of someone following.

“Okay Sara, think. If they can find you this close to Portland, you’re still too close to the coven.” A yawn cracked her jaw, “Seattle it is. Let’s find a truck stop where I can switch cars and sleep a few hours off camera. Maybe tomorrow I will have a fucking clue what to do.”

At two in the morning, every truck stop has this vaguely ominous feeling. Serial killers behind every bush and--Sara snorted derisively--slim chance she would find a bigger monster then the one in her head. The ratio of big rigs to sensible sized vehicles wasn’t great, but this truck stop came complete with a staffed diner which meant that she had at least a few to choose from. Swapping the plates from one to another, she popped the lock on an aging Ford Ranger which was by far the cleaner of the two. Crammed under the dash and humming tunelessly to herself, Sara got the engine to turn over without too much trouble. At this point in her life, one stolen car was just another blip on the radar.

Back on the I-5 corridor, the green sign overhead read 107 miles to Seattle. Almost on cue, her jaw cracked with another yawn. 

“Walmart parking lot it is.” 

Her eyes were burning before she found a place suitably populated for her needs. Phone alarm set for an hour, Sara reclined her seat as far as it would go. Doors locked and gun in hand under her blanket, she dropped off into darkness. 

_The titles on the shelves were interesting: Chaucer, L’Amour, Dickinson, Patterson… Eclectic and memorable. Slowly the sound of crackling added, like a radio tuning in. She turned. Behind her was a fireplace, where one hadn’t been before. The glow from the firelight showed an unremarkable man with his legs crossed in front of him--until he opened his eyes. Whatever he was sent her backing across the room as fast as she could._

_ “He’s still tied to you, you know.” _

_ The noise she made was noncommittal, as she looked for a door.  _

_ “Whatever they did to your pack bond, I can undo it. I just have to know where you are.” _

_ It was a trap. Cold shivers raced down her spine, and her beast began to rumble. _

_ “Don’t worry, we’ll find you soon. Wake up.” _

Searing into consciousness, Sara bit off a roar. Her jaw ached with clenching, in her sleep. That, combined with the ripe scent of dried sweat and fear, made her more than ready to hit the road. There was a wiggle of doubt threading around her thoughts, like a goldfish in a bowl. Her dream had been a warning of something. But what? Snatches of a library and wide pine flooring did nothing to help her mood. Coffee would though, coffee fixes everything, too bad it was another 81 miles to Seattle. 


	2. On the Road Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sara gets an escort to the Marrok whether she wants it or not.

It was easy daylight when Sara stopped in Federal Way for gas. Traffic was beginning to pick up as she crept closer to Seattle. It was only twenty-three miles left on the map, but her gas gauge was flirting with empty in a disconcerting way. There was also the minor fact that she didn’t have a plan after hitting Seattle, except for the coffee in her future. 

Sara pulled her hat down low as she stepped out of the gas station. The glove compartment had yielded $11.37 in crumpled bills and change which had gone straight into her gas tank. A slow moving sedan caught her eye as it pulled up to the pump. Paranoia made her fingers itch. Had she seen it before? Shoulders hunched, she hustled back to her pump, keeping a weather eye on the car behind her. 

“Faster, faster, faster.” Mumbling under her breath, she flinched at the sound of a car’s doors slamming. “Shit.” 

She kept her head down, anxiety ratcheting to nauseous levels as two sets of footsteps echoed on the pavement. Fumbling with the nozzle, Sara felt the plastic creak a warning as she jammed it back into the holder. Slapping the gas tank door shut, she peered at the two strangers under the rim of her hat. They were chatting softly as they walked past her, neither of them even pausing for a breath in the conversation. 

Finally safe in the cab of her truck, she hit her head gently against the steering wheel. 

“It’s not always about you. Breathe.” 

A knock on the glass sent her heart rate back through the roof. It was one of the men from before, holding something in his hand. Sara rolled the window down about an inch.

“Can I help you?” 

“Yeah I think you can.” The breeze that floated through the window carried the unmistakable scent of mint and musk. Werewolves.

He must have seen the change in her eyes, because without a pause he popped open the unlocked door and snatched the keys from her numb fingers. She could feel her beast thrumming under her skin, itching for a fight.

“Boss sent us to collect you. Lucky he was in Seattle instead of Montana. Scootch over, I’ll drive.”

She sent a panicked look behind her and realized the other man was standing outside the passenger door. Sara was truly trapped. The man in front of her tilted his chin down and gave a low whistle.

“Geez, I bet you're a monster just like bossman. On second thought, Asil can drive you. I think you’re probably a bit out of my league.” He threw the keys over the hood at the other man, and handed her the grocery bag he’d been carrying. 

“What’s this?”

“Snacks for the road,” he grinned cheekily. “You looked a little hungry so we figured if we were going to kidnap you, we should at least bring something to bribe you with. We’re not the bad guys, sweetheart, we’re just here to help.” 

He tipped an imaginary hat at her and sauntered back to their vehicle. 

“Doc means well, he just never got past the era where the hero rides in to save the day.” 

Sara hadn’t even heard him move. His sudden appearance startled her wolf, and she could feel the seat rumble from the growl she choked back. Eyes to the floorboards, she scooted across to the passenger seat to make room as he stepped into the truck. Settling back against the door, she finally got a peek at the wolf sitting next to her. A slack-jawed Asil was staring back.

“Samira?” He was practically on top of her in a heartbeat. Wolf yellow eyes contradicted the gentle hand holding her chin, turning her face this way and that. “I was right, it is you. All these years and I never knew.”

Sara jerked her face from his hand. 

Rage made it hard to swallow. “Don’t touch me.”

He almost looked wounded by her outburst, pulling his hand away as if she’d burned him. “Samira, I’m sorry. I was just so surprised to see you.”

“What are you talking about?” 

He sounded surprised. “Samira, it’s Hussan. We’ve met before. In Toledo, a few centuries ago.”

“Sara.” Centuries?

“My apologies, I did not know you were going by a new name.”

“It’s just Sara. It’s always been Sara. I don’t know you. What do you mean  _ centuries _ ? How did you find me? And where--” Her voice cracked. “Where are you taking me?”

Yellow eyes slowly melted into brown. Asil looked deeply troubled as he studied the trembling wolf beside him. One who still smelled of witch blood and pain. 

“I am sorry, Sara if I offended you. You remind me of someone I once knew. We are taking you to the Marrok, he’s been looking for you for quite some time. You’re safe now. Doc and I will protect you until you are in the Marrok’s keeping. Now eat and rest, we’ve still got about an hour before we reach where he’s staying outside of Seattle.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sara Williams is an original character that is going to play into the storyline of Sherwood Post. Some of it will be cannon, but most likely a lot will not. I also have not decided who she's going to fall in love with so bear with me as we find out together. The inspiration for this came from the poem, "Measure Every Grief" by Emily Dickinson. You should read it, if you haven't. Thanks for reading!


End file.
